


The Five Times Alex Blamed Jefferson and the Twice He Didn't

by InsecurelyPerfect



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alex is a cop, Dark Thoughts, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, alex cant handle his blame, alex cheats on eliza, alex hates thomas, but its mostly because he blames himself for the cheating, getting kicked out, thomas and alex are neighbors, thomas is a cop, trigger warning, tw for suicide, washington is the chief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19813615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsecurelyPerfect/pseuds/InsecurelyPerfect
Summary: Alexander blames Thomas for a lot of things he shouldn't.





	1. The One Where Alex Cheats

Alex awoke with a jolt, examining his unfamiliar surroundings, trying to figure out where he was, who he was with, and why he had a killer headache.

Once his mind was able to process what was going on, it all came flooding back to him -- especially with the overwhelming amount of purple in the room.

He wanted to throw up.

This was all that fucker's fault. That fucker in his doorway at two am. That fucker offering for drinks. That fucker ruining his life. That fucker that was Thomas Jefferson.

Alexander Hamilton was stressed. The case Washington had stuck on him was tougher than what he usually worked on, but his boss thought he could handle it, and he did not want to disappoint his boss. The guy, Reynolds, seemed to have a lot of mental issues to make him do what he did. Alex had to gather enough information and evidence for his wife to get a restraining order against him. 

He had started off just fine, finding the abuse in their relationship and the alcohol, but it was proving how it happened and that he wasn't just making random accusations at James that was the hard part.

Alex frequently stayed late at the office. Burr, Jefferson, and he were the most efficient and the most hard-working workers at the firm. As it continued to grow later and later, his brain began to stop working as well, and he was sitting there staring at the case file and his essays, hoping the scratches of notes would soon come together.

Rubbing his hands in his face in his hands and throwing his pencil on the desk he started packing up his briefcase to go home when Thomas Jefferson in his obnoxious purple coat knocked on the frame of his doorway. "Burr's home."

"And you're not yet, Thomas? Why are you still here? Not steal enough of the company's mac-n-cheese behind Washington's back?"

Thomas flung his hands up in surrender. "Hey, no attacking. You only stay this late when you're stressed and can't figure out a case. I figured I'd check on you, see how it's coming along, and see if you wanted to get some drinks. You look like you could use a few."

Alex knew Thomas well enough to know that if he were going to be a dick, he would have already done so by now. He bit his lip tiredly, looking at the clock, and hesitantly debating actually going with Thomas.

It was late already; staying out a little later wouldn't be too bad -- not as long as he texted Eliza that he'd be out a little longer.

Slowly, he nodded. There was a pushing feeling in his gut, telling him not to go, that something bad would happen, that it wasn't worth it. He shoved away the screaming feeling and accepted the offer still standing in his doorway. He nodded normally, showing his acceptance and quickly finished packing the rest of his job.

"I still have to make it home to my fiancee. I can't stay for long or get too drunk. Understand me, Jefferson?" Alex spat, not really in an angry tone, just sending a warning at his rival.

"I know, Alex. You may not realize it, but you are always talking about her, so you don't need to elaborate." Alexander shrugged, grabbing his briefcase, and throwing his coat around his shoulders before following Thomas out to his ridiculous car.

Alex had known that Thomas was an outrageous and out there but he hadn't known anything until he saw Thomas' car. It was a Lamborghini with white tires and purple rims. The paint job itself was mostly white but on the hood and the sides had flared ombre purple flames. The inside wasn't any better. The seats were black leather seamed with purple leather and the steering wheel was purple. He didn't understand how someone could freely ride around in that.

"Gee I wonder what your favorite color is." Alex couldn't help himself. He needed to make that comment. He chuckled lightly as Thomas glared at him with pursed lips.

"If you don't stop being a wise-ass then I will take you straight home. Understand me, Hamilton?" Thomas could mock him all he wanted but if Alex could make fun of him he was fine.

Alexander smirked. "That's the seventh time you've done that this week and it's only Tuesday. Do you like me or something?"

Before that roar of the engine and Thomas slowly pulled out of the parking space he looked Alex dead in the eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure. Seven times this week -- which is three days in might I add -- that you've mocked or mimicked me. Honestly, I'm flattered. Not once did I think that big shot 'I'll Never Let Anyone Know How I Feel Aside From Hatred' Jefferson would make fun of me in such away. I think I'll have to have a couple of shots of vodka tonight to celebrate."

"You're over exaggerating. And to answer your question; like you generally? Absolutely not. Like you as a human? You're tolerable. Like you as a co-worker? Fuck no. And Ham it seems to me you're the one with the crush -- you know counting."

Alexander's cheeks burned at Thomas' words. He tried to hide his face by turning to the window so that he could blame any color Thomas may or may not have seen on any passing stores or street lights.

The road was smooth the windows were down as a light summer breeze flooded into the car and silence sat between the men however with the music playing it was comfortable and neither of them really cared all that much. Nice thoughts about the possibility of Thomas and Alex being friends or at the very least friendly to each other flooded Alex's brain and he smiled gently humming along to whatever song was playing on the radio. Soon enough they had arrived at the anticipated destination.

They approached the door but before Alexander could open it Thomas blocked the handles a hard look sewn on his face. "Here are the rules: don't get us kicked out. This is my favorite bar and I come here frequently. If I get banned from here I will make your job even harder. Do you get it?" Alexander gulped harshly and loudly. He heard his ears pop and he shivered, nodding delicately feeling a sense of fear and a hint of arousal as Jefferson was stern and took control with explicit rules for Alexander to follow.

Trailing behind Jefferson like a lost puppy Alex kept his head down his jaw tight his body squeezed into himself. He waited for Thomas' instructions or direction. He just wanted to get off his stress and not have his job become actual hell. Thomas pointed at the barstool next to him and Alex happily obliged.

A window of time was given for Alex to look around while Thomas ordered varied drinks for the pair of them to share. The first thing that caught Alex's eye was how much light there was at the same time as there barely being any light at all. The next thing he soaked up was the smell. He felt ridiculous even pointing it out to himself seeing as they were in a bar. However, that didn't stop the horrendous scent filtering the building.

This was all new to Alex and he had never been in a bar before but he had heard stories. With the bar not meeting his expectations, he couldn't say that he wasn't pleasantly surprised. He thought they were loud and crowded but this one was really fairly quiet and well organized. A couple of drunks passed out at the bar but that was about the worst of it. They even had wings and were showing the baseball game.

"I hope you don't mind; I got an assortment of shots. Vodka tequila and a couple of others. They're all colored though to make it fun" Thomas commented as the tray of colored liquids was placed in front of them. Alexander reached for a bright pink glass and Thomas went for the blue one.

"Bottom's up."

The two downed their drinks and Alex's mouth puckered at the unnatural taste that filled his mouth. He vigorously shook his head in hopes to rid it.

"Aw c'mon Alexander. Can't hold your alcohol?"

"I haven't had anything aside from the occasional whiskey for the past year seeing as I'm only twenty-two. Sorry for not having much drinking experience."

Thomas smiled and Alex was able to see that Thomas was literally biting his tongue. "Well we'll just have to liquor you up then won't we? This should be fun."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you feel a buzz yet?" Alex shook his head. "Okay. Take another shot. If you don't feel a buzz take another one." Alex nodded picking the orange one and the green one and downing the orange one first and waited a few seconds to see how he felt.

"Are headaches and dizziness the buzz?"

Thomas nodded. "Honestly I'm genuinely surprised you haven't had an underage drink" he mentioned coolly sipping a beer Alex hadn't noticed Thomas had also noticed there was one in front of him as well. "Especially not at a party in high school or college and with the stress you have."

Alex shrugged eyeing the remaining shots on the tray. "I never really got invited to parties. Or cared enough about them to actually go. School was too important to me I guess."

Thomas chuckled. "There are two people I know like that. You and Burr. You guys may not get along but there is no doubt you are more similar than either of you would ever care to admit."

Weary Alex debated on telling Thomas the entirety of how he met Burr. Interesting it was. He chuckled starting the story but not giving all the details away -- just the basics. Toying with his drink he let the bitter taste fill his mouth before speaking.

"Just before I started college I literally tracked the poor guy down to see how he graduated so quickly. See if I could follow in his footsteps. Literally attempted to at one point. 'Show I'm working as a hired employee at the firm at twenty-two." Alex shrugged sipping once again.

"Holy shit! You actually followed him?"

"Yeah. He hated me for it. Still does. Called me a nuisance the other day and said I wasn't ready to graduate college early when I asked him where the printer paper was."

Thomas took a swig of his beer, shaking his head. "Jesus he needs to stop acting like he's the smartest in the room."

"That I'll drink to." Thomas and Alex touched their glasses together and both took a few gulps of their drinks.

Shortly after all of the shots were gone (most of them drank by Alex), Alex was drunk to the point of slurred speech and instability in walking. He could see Thomas starting to get hesitant and weary towards him. Scared almost.

"Tommy!" he giggled catching Thomas' attention. Thomas stared at him with shock glued on his face and Alex could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. He leaned toward Thomas and stayed there.

Drunk Alex was something to look out for. Alexander was an overly sexual desperate truthful drunk would probably fuck a tree if anyone would let him. At least that's what he was showing Thomas who was tipsy but still sober enough that he'd be able to drive if he had a couple of waters in his body.

With a couple of glasses of waters in his system, Thomas seemed able to handle the monstrosity that was a drunk Alexander Hamilton properly. Alex could no longer process what was going on. He couldn't think or walk straight and his vision doubled when he tried to stand up. Everything felt like it was just whizzing by and was fake. "Alex we should get going," Thomas said standing up and walked over to the other man to help him be safe.

Wrapping an arm under Alexander's shoulders he felt around for his phone quickly swiping it so Alex wouldn't make any really poor decisions. Alex couldn't seem to understand that that was what Thomas was doing though because he placed his hand on Thomas' crotch and a sloppy kiss on his shoulder. "Kiss me, Thomas."

Alex felt Thomas adjusting his body. "Hamilton, do you think you could make this easy on me and just give me your phone?"

A giggle escaped his lips. "Why would I do that?"

Another adjustment. "So I can tell Eliza that you're okay so she isn't worried since you know that's the responsible thing to do."

That made sense. Thomas just wanted to inform his girlfriend that he was okay. Alex sloppily yanked it out of his pocket and almost dropped it before handing it off to Thomas.

"What's your password?"

Alex removed himself from Thomas' grip and tried to regain his sober posture. His eyebrows furrowed, but not out of confusion. "5333. Spells Jeff, you know, like your last name," he said in complete seriousness.

Alex watched as Thomas tapped away on his phone before slipping it into his pocket. Thomas reached for the man's hand and tugged him along. "Let's go, Alex. I need to get you home."

"Oh yeah? What are we gonna do at home?" Alex slurred, hardly understandable. Thomas grimaced as Alex's breath entered his nose. God, that man could drink.

Putting an arm under Alex again, he hoisted him back on his shoulder and dragged Alex to his car. Tricky, yet well done, Thomas, got Alex safely buckled in the passenger seat, avoiding all of the kisses and hickies Alex tried to give.

The entire ride, Alex kept his hand on Thomas' inner thigh and he was rubbing. It was very awkward and poorly done, so thankfully it wasn't affecting Thomas as much.

"Hey, Tommy, where we goin'?" Thomas noticed Alex also tested to get fairly childish while under alcohol's influence.

"We're going to my house. I can take care of you and I don't want to just dump you with Eliza and leave her to take care of you -- it's not fair to her." Alex nodded, yawning, falling asleep as Thomas drove, leaving him thankful for Alex sleeping.

Thomas sighed, gripping the wheel tightly, trying his best to focus on the road, while also trying to figure out how to take care of a drunk person, seeing as he had never done so before.

*

"Hey, Alex. Alex, time to get up," Thomas murmured gently, shaking Alex's shoulder to wake him up. He stirred, opening his eyes, but when he spoke, Thomas knew he was still drunk. Thomas sighed, putting the man around his body once more, bringing him inside and laying him on the couch, waiting for Alexander to wake up. 

Thomas wanted to try and sober him up, so he left and came back with a glass of water. When he returned, there was Alexander, on his bed, without a shirt on, and undoing his pants.

Alex perked up upon seeing Thomas enter the room, shimming all the way out of his pants, leaving him alone in his boxers, begging Thomas with his eyes to join him on the bed. Placing the water next to him, Thomas sat in front of Alex.

"Alex, what are you doing?"

Alex crawled toward Thomas, blushing and leaning into Thomas' side. He could hear the sound of his heart beating (racing, rather) and slowly placed a couple of kisses on Thomas' jawline. 

"Alex... .what are you doing? You're getting married to Eliza! You shouldn't do this."

"But Tommy...I want you. I need you. You're so beautiful, you know that? Anyone ever tell you?"

Thomas chuckled, shoving Alexander off of him. "I don't care if it's what you want. This isn't right and you know it. I refuse to participate in these activities."

Alex pushed. He climbed back on Thomas, now straddling the man, passionately kissing him and pushing Thomas on his back with more force than Thomas realized the man was capable of. 

At this point, Thomas didn't know what to do. He was now too aroused to not continue but he knew Alex would kill him in the morning. He didn't give a fuck. He pressed his lips back on Alex's with almost the same amount of force.

Thomas searched Alex's eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Alex nodded eagerly, ripping Thomas's shirt off of his body and carelessly tossing it throughout the room, undoing his jeans.

Alex cringed, not wanting to remember the rest of the previous night. Even being there made him sick, but actually remembering what he had done? Fuck, how could he do this to Eliza? How could he let this happen? Why did he get so drunk? He couldn't face her. He wouldn't be able to, but he had to.

Running a hand through his hair, he stood up, quickly pulling on his boxers and collecting his clothes, scavenging around for his phone so he could call his fiancee. He couldn't find it, but he couldn't remember what he had done with it. 

Glancing over and seeing Thomas was still sound asleep, Alex decided to wake him up. Seeing as he never slept with Thomas before, Alexander had no idea which would be the best way to go about waking him up, so he went for classic nudging his shoulder and whispering his name.

Thomas groaned, turning into the pillow that lay next to him. "Five more minutes," he muttered, snuggling closer to the bed.

"No, Thomas, not five more minutes. Where is my phone? I need to call Eliza."

Thomas shot up upon hearing Alexander's voice, looking at him through half-closed eyes before glancing down at his naked lower half and then back at Alex, smirking. Clearly, he remembered last night perfectly. Then, he jutted his chin at a purple suit jacket thrown on the floor. "It's just there. I took your phone last night so you wouldn't do anything rash or make any poor decisions."

Alex nodded, picking it up, seeing that it was nine in the morning and that he had a bunch of texts from all three of the Schuyler sisters and a few missed calls from a couple of their friends. 

Alex's hands turned clammy and his heart was beating out of his chest as he hit the call button. Voicemail. "Hey, Eliza. . ." he trailed off, not knowing how to continue what he was going to say or even start. "Um, I'm at Jefferson's, and I was wondering if you'd be able to pick me up. . ." He rubbed the back on his neck, biting his lip and hanging up.

Sitting back on the bed, he rubbed his face with his hands.

_God, this was all Jefferson's fucking fault._


	2. The One With the Leaves That Blew

Alex peered out the window, sighing at the leaves scattering as his young son, Philip, Angelica's daughter (whom he needed to learn the name of), and a couple of other neighborhood kids ran and crawled through the freshly fallen leaves of this autumn.

He felt like it had just started, the previous day, but many people on their street (including Jefferson) were getting ready for Halloween, so it definitely was not just starting, but that's didn't stop that feeling Hamilton got every time he saw a pumpkin in the store or on someone's porch steps.

The smell of bacon bringing him into the kitchen, Alex found Eliza bent over the stove, adding fresh blueberries and chocolate chips into the batch of pancakes she was currently making. He smiled, snaking his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Good morning, my love," he mumbled, kissing her cheek. "So, I need to take the leaves. I'll do that after breakfast, though, so that way you aren't eating alone. Sound good?"

Eliza hummed her agreement, wriggling out of her husband's grip to properly flip the pancakes. "Would you like any help on the leaves? I know they can be a hassle."

Alex pulled his wife in for a quick kiss. "No, it's fine, 'Liza. You should just take Phil and Angie's kid in here, and all three of you should drink hot cocoa in your pajamas and watch some fun movies."

Eliza bit her lip, gazing into his eyes, wary of how Alex was so okay with doing all of the work. She nodded slowly. "Okay. . ." With that, she dug into her pancakes, shoving a large chunk into her mouth.

The couple is slowly and quietly, just enjoying each others' company and making minimal conversation throughout the breakfast.

Shortly after finishing up, Alex helped Eliza clean up and get the kids inside before appropriately dressing up to do the job. His apparel included these ridiculous purple earmuffs that were from Thomas at an office Secret Santa a couple of years ago, a fuzzy black beanie from his good friend John Laurens, a giant brown winter coat he bought from Walmart the previous year because there was a flood in their basement and Alex's coat got destroyed. He has seen in on display and he had almost no faith in it, but he ended up enjoying it. He also threw on some old sneakers and a pair of jeans with a few tears in them, along with a pair of personally knit gloves by his other friend Hercules Mulligan. 

He opened the garage with a rake in his hand and he looked around, trying to figure out which starting point would be the most efficient. Unfortunately, he decided that starting near Jefferson's house would help him get more done.

What Alex didn't realize was that Thomas was right out in front of his house hanging up Halloween decorations -- that was until Thomas spoke to him. "Morning, Hamilton."

Alexander inwardly groaned, not feeling like dealing with the bullshit Thomas probably had in store to spew for him. Instead of being a jackass, though, he turned around, smiling -- a fake one, of course. "Thomas!"

Thomas' eyes raked over Alex's body, drinking up what he was wearing, and smirked at Alex's earmuffs.

"Glad to see you kept those earmuffs I gave you."

Alex's jaw clenched. "Yeah, well, Eliza would have killed me if I had gotten rid of them." 

Humming, Thomas walked over toward Alex, getting close to him. "I believe that was around the time when we had last gotten this close. You remember that night?" Thomas' breath was hot in Alex's ear. He stayed hard, strong, no sign of breaking, but his jaw clenched even tighter if it was possible and he balled his fists.

Alexander rolled his eyes. "Fuck you. That was over nine years ago. Let it go already -- and stop bothering me, you asshole." 

A gasp escaped Thomas' lips as he slapped a hand to his heart, but a smug look quickly replaced his mock hurt. "I'd gladly screw you again, Alex. And I enjoy seeing you all riled up. It's hot."

"Jesus Christ, can you calm your gay for five minutes?"

"No, actually, I can't. Seeing you makes me gay all over again and I can't help it."

"Like hell, you can't." Alex tried to block out Jefferson, which was tricky sometimes, but Alex was smart. He was able to do difficult tasks easily. He pulled out his headphones and sang aloud to whatever random song that came on to get Thomas to take the hint to go away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thomas glared at him before turning to continue hanging up his decorations. Alex went back to his job, working slowly and taking frequent breaks in between all of his raking.

He had many small piles scattered all over his yard, and many more in his backyard, which he had intended on bringing up to the front. Alex knew it was a lot of work and that it was cold, only getting colder by the second, but he was prepared to do this and he was going to do it. He was ready for this, even if it was a semi-bad idea. Alex just wanted to do what he thought would be an efficient way, and when he set his mind to something, he could get it done in a matter of hours, or any time quicker than what people usually took to get the tasks at hand done.

Even for Alex, it was a slow process and he found it to be quite a tedious job. His playlist had started over three times and he was starting to get frustrated. Plus the wind was starting to pick up and blow the leaves to other places and get out of their neat piles, scattering around the ground.

When Alex had finally been able to get everything under control and he finished getting all of the leaves in the neatest piles he could muster up, he started working on bringing the leaves from the backyard all the way to the front yard so he could combine them together; a process he found to be even more tedious than the original task of just raking all of the leaves in general.

It took him a while to even get the mini piles together; a total of three hours. He was freezing and his fingertips were pretty much numb, even in his knit gloves from Hercules and his face was a bright red. When he huffed his breath out, he could see his breath and he knew it was cold and that if he was out any longer, then he'd probably get sick, so he went inside. After all, even Jefferson had gone in, an hour and a half before Alex had gone in.

"Hey, Eliza, please tell me you still have some of those heating pad type things that you gave everyone for Christmas.”

“Which ones?” his wife’s voice called.

“The ones where you shake them and place them in areas and they can get really hot and warm you the hell up and you're like 'yes! Heaven at last!' Or a heating pad. It doesn't matter which one you get. I just need one of them."

Eliza nodded, leaving her husband to go get the heating pad. Alex tried to sit still while she was getting the heating pad, but he couldn't stop moving his hands and feet, barely able to feel it. He wasn't able to stay still so he stood up and went into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for himself so he could feel some sort of warmth and maybe get some feeling back in his body.

Shortly after he had made his drink and sat with Philip and Angelica's daughter to watch whatever movie they had put on, Eliza returned with the heating pad that has spent all too much time on her lower abdomen, but she knew Alex wouldn't mind. After all, the kids had used up the rest of the mini heat packs they kept in the drawer two months ago and Eliza hadn't had the chance to stock up again.

She handed it to her husband and he leaned up, quickly kissing her, despite the protests of their young viewers, and handed him the heating pad before plugging it in and turning it on for him. She watched as her husband sat with his hands on his lap with the heating pad on top of his hands as he shuddered at the conflicting temperatures he was feeling at that time.

Alexander's face was red all over. His nose, his cheeks, his chin, and his breath staggered as the cold air left his lungs and was replaced with the warm. Even though he couldn't feel his face, fingers, or his toes, he smiled. He smiled watching his family. He smiled because he loves them and wouldn't give them up for anything. He was lucky to have them and he knew it.

Every once in a while after he had come in, Alex only went outside to check on the leaves and quickly raked them to stay in their respective piles, but not putting them in their big pile he still had planned yet. He'd wait until tomorrow when it was supposed to be about twenty degrees warmer and he'd be able to handle it. 

He woke up early in the morning so that he actually would be able to get all of his little piles into the giant one. The job didn't take him as long as he thought it would, but it was not a short process.

He was still cold as well. It may have been warmer, but it wasn't much warmer. It felt like his face had been frozen off instead of being numb. Alex still felt there was an issue with that and he didn't enjoy the feeling either -- especially since the big pile took him five and a half hours to get together. The wind was still not in his favor, and Alex minded a lot.

Frustration boiled in the pit of his stomach, locked behind bars, waiting for him to explode with rage as the wind got more frequent and picked up rapidly in addition to also being stronger than it was yesterday. Alex felt like every gust brought more force. A couple of times he threw down his rake and screamed into his hands. It must have been a strange sight for any passing cars or pedestrians: a grown man burying his face in his hands and screaming as loud as he possibly could with a rake next to him (a few of them saw him attempting to break the rake in half) as leaves came up to his ankles and swirled all around his body.

Alex and Thomas never really got along and the pair of them fought frequently. Thomas was used to an angry Alex and had even seen Hamilton making attempts to strangle him, but even Thomas had never seen Alexander so distraught and angry and helpless. He didn't like it. It left a bad aftertaste in his mouth that Thomas wanted nothing more than to get rid of.

In an attempt to calm the passing people, he told them not to focus on Alex, then he went over to Alex, asking if Hamilton wanted to use his leaf blower to speed things along, an offer of which he did decline, but not politely. Thomas still hated seeing his colleague in his current state, so then he offered to help rake the leaves. To that, Alex gave him the bird and yelled at him to "leave the vicinity of his yard before he set Thomas' cat on fire".

Trying to argue he didn't have a cat and Alex knew that only got Alex more enraged, so Thomas took his best bet on leaving, and did.

Alex was tired, cold, and unable to think. He wanted nothing more than to be done. He had bitten off more than he could chew for solo work. Sure, he was almost done, but that was with the front yard. Pushing until he couldn't anymore, for an extra half hour, Hamilton got almost a fourth of his backyard done. That was when he gave up on the rake.

He leaned down, opening his arms, and engulfing a giant hug of leaves in his arms and carried his scoop to the front, only dropping a couple of the leaves along the way.

Smiling at his new work, Alex was more efficient, so he disposed of his rake (in the garage, of course) and relied on his hands and arms. He'd use the rake later for fall away leaves. Finally satisfied that he had found a perfect way to get his leaves in a pile, he did his scooping technique and finished his job in forty more minutes.

He would deny it if anyone asked, but he totally did a victory dance, and Thomas thankfully caught a video of it.

Alex practically kicked down the door when he walked in. "I FUCKING DID IT! ELIZA, DO YOU LOVE ME?" 

Eliza hesitantly walked into the kitchen, a scared look directed at her heaving husband. "Alexander!" she scolded. "Philip is at the stage in his life where he is repeating almost everything! Watch your mouth!" She walked over, no longer wearing a look. She placed her hands on his chest and kissed his cheek. "And of course I love you -- it's why I married you, love?"

He quickly flashed a toothy grin at his wife. "I love you, too." He placed a passionate kiss to her lips. "Now, before the wind decides to be a bastard again, I've got to get a trash bag ready and get the leaves in there. Except, after some warming, because the weather is a bitch!" Eliza hit him each time he swore, but he just chuckled. 

The couple sat in their love seat, curled in a tangle of limbs, but it was comfortable, and that is what mattered the most. A random movie with Kevin Hart had been put on and they were enjoying it. They sipped their cocoas and soaked up each other's warmth and love. 

"You know what's fantastic about this?" Eliza questioned.

"No, what?" Alex responded, looking down to meet her eyes.

"The fact that you're not working. We haven't done this in so long because you're always working and never have time for this anymore." Eliza snuggled back into his chest and hummed, and before he knew it, his wife was asleep in his arms. Alex decided to wait until she was awake to go back to the leaves. It meant comfort for her and extra time for getting warm for him. That had lasted for two and a half hours but he didn't mind. He was happy to stay frozen for his wife if it meant she could nap.

Peering out the window, he looked for his giant leaf pile he was about to deal with. Confused as to why he couldn't find it, he soon realized that his pile had been destroyed and scattered around the yard.

A feeling bubbled inside of Alex, but what feeling was it? Anger? No. Sadness? No. Sock? Yes. Alexander Hamilton was shocked at what faced him. His eyes practically bugged out of his head and his jaw dropped so low that it hit the ground. However, he soon set his jaw. It was tighter than ever before. Heart pounding -- no, thumping -- like a drum against his ribcage. Mother FUCKING Thomas Jefferson was to blame for this. Dude hadn't even gone inside after committing his crime.

Now, Alex was pissed.

Alexander stormed outside his fists in hard balls. He was going to confront Thomas. Thomas would not get away with this if Alex had anything to say about it. 

"Thomas!" he called, balling and unballing his fists. 

Thomas' head snapped up from the car he was working on. Jesus, does he spend any time at all inside? When he saw it was just Alex, he rolled his eyes and went back to work.

Alex, however, refused to let that happen. He placed a hand on Thomas' shoulder and yanked him back so he faced Alex, whose fuming had gotten so bad the steam coming out of his ears was practically visible, fought his intuition to punch Thomas square in his smug face.

Once Thomas just how angry Alex was a look of fear passed through his eyes. "What the hell do you want now?" 

Letting go of the fistful of the shirt neither of them realized Alex grabbed, Alex tried his best tic recollect himself. "What did you do to my leaf pile?" he accused, jabbing a thumb behind him at the leaves that were scattered all across the yard.

Thomas' eyes widened at the mess that faced him. He saw Alex raking and he knew not only did it take the man hours to complete, but it took him into a second day to complete the job. "Holy shit." Glancing back at Alex's accusatory look, he defended himself. "You think I did that?! You are joking, right? Do you seriously think I hate you that much that I would stoop that low as to sabotage something you spent an unnecessary amount of house on? That is utterly ridiculous and you need to get your head out of your ass. I didn't do that. Even I am not that low." A harder glare and arms crossed.

"If you didn't do it, then who did?"

"I don't know, but I didn't do it, so kindly back the hell off and leave my driveway, please."

Taking a few steps back, Alex listened to Thomas' commas to back off and Thomas was thankful for that.

Swiping a hand under his nose, Alex looked back at Thomas, panting heavily. "So, you didn't do it?" he inquired. 

Thomas shook his head. "No, I didn't do it. Now, stop hounding me about it."

"Did you see who did do it?" Alex was fixated on getting an answer. He wouldn't stop until he knew.

"Jesus, Hamilton. I just told you to drop it. Leave me the hell alone!"

Once again, Hamilton backed off. This time, though, he went into his house.

"Oh, come on, Eliza! If not him, then who?"

Eliza stopped chopping and fixing her tomatoes, laying down the knife and stared at her husband. "I don't know, but you should go over to his house tomorrow to apologize and maybe try to find out then. Ooh! I'll make brownies!" 

"'Liz. . . You don't have to make him brownies. . ." Alex stood, his feet planted at awkward angles and his head buried under his shielding hand.

"Yes! I do! They're apology brownies! Ooh! And I can make them Halloween themed! It's perfect!" Eliza quickly picked up the pace and started dicing her tomatoes so fast that Alex thought she'd chop off her fingers.

Alex pretty much spent the rest of the day raking the leaves, putting them immediately in a garbage bag so he didn't have to go through the process a fourth time and trying to figure out who ruined his leaf pile in the first place.

Just before he left the next morning, Eliza stopped him. As he was questioning why she shoved a pan of brownies in his hands.

Groaning, he peered inside, and his groaning got louder. The brownies were decorated with colorful pumpkin sprinkles, and in purple icing, she wrote "I'M SORRY, THOMAS". "Eliza, he is going to laugh in my face if I show up at his door with these! He'll also hold this over my head for forever! Do I have to give them to him?"

"Yes, you do. I will watch you hand these to him if I have to."

Alex groaned yet again. "Ugh, fine." and left to give them to Thomas, thankful that Thomas wasn't outside as usual. He stood on the porch step, trying to make himself ring the doorbell. When he finally did, it was the push of Philip and Angelica being outside that made him do it, wanting his children to see their daddy be brave.

Thomas answered the door and leaned against the frame, crossing his arms and legs. "Well, well, well. What do we have here? Mr. Alexander Hamilton? Is this an apology?"

Alex was about to speak when Philip came running over and attached himself to his father's legs. "Daddy! Daddy! Hi! When the leaves fall again, are you gonna make another fun leaf pile for Angie and me to play around in?" 

Frozen, Alex's eyes widened. "Philip can you get off of me for one minute -- but stay here," Alex directed at his son, before adverting his gaze back at Thomas. "And you stay right there." Back to Philip. "Phil, baby, did you mess up Daddy's pile of leaves?"

Philip's eyes shone with pride as he vigorously nodded. A chuckle escaped Alex's lips and he moved back up to Thomas, handing him the pan. "I was wrong. I'm sorry. My wife made these for you."

Eyebrows knit in confusion, Thomas accepted the brownies hesitantly, thanked Alexander, and shut his door, but not before smugly smirking at his rival.

_How could Alex blame Thomas for that?_


	3. The One Where Alex Almost Shoots Washington

Strapping on the eyeglasses tightly and glaring, Alex tried to focus his energy in the shooting range. He knew he wasn't great, but what better time to practice his aim than when he's pissed? 

Reynolds did not make it easy on him to figure out this damn case. He had the evidence of the abuse, but Reynolds' given alibis somehow checked out. Maybe Maria had another abuser? Couldn't be. . . but maybe.

This case was keeping him up at night, and he hasn't been able to crack it. He knew what Washington expected from him, but he wasn't sure if he could deliver what was being asked of him. Sometimes, he was able to meet the expectations, but sometimes, he wasn't. And this was one of those "wasn't" times where he was so stressed, he couldn't focus on anything and his best bet was just trying to get rid of the built-up frustration.

So far, with the thirteenth bullet he's hot he's hit the target every time. Not bullseye, and barely even close, but he definitely hit the actual target and that was good enough for him.

Every bullet shot was like a sandbag being lifted off of his shoulders and he felt the thunderstorm of clouds blocking his brain clearing up with every _BANG!_

Closing his left eye and raising his gun, his tongue darted out of his mouth and he zeroed in on his target. One clean shot, that was all he needed. A loud bang, a hit to the bullseye zone and he could probably finish the case.

A stirring tingle in his lower back appeared and he tried to ignore it. He felt sweat forming on his forehead under the light, his shirt soaking the sweat from his body. He readjusted himself to gain the aim he lost and was about to pull the trigger of the cocked gun at the ready.

"I wish you would take your frustration out on me, babe." _BANG!_ Click. Done. 

Alex felt his knees melt as his eyes widened in fear. His heart picked up as his jaw hit the ground. He fell to the ground, sliding his gun to the feet in front of his view and he tugged at his hair. He felt tears pooling in his eyes out of fear of what just happened. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, not with the range now closed as the fellow cops took care of this.

If only Jefferson hadn't fucking been there, then Alex would have been clear. Probably would have hit his desired target. Not being pulled up from the ground by the other shooters, having his hands being cuffed behind him and thrown in a cell because he accidentally almost shot his fucking boss in the head.

Time seemed to slow down and everything was in slow motion. Hamilton couldn't think straight as he stumbled into the cell, tripping over his feet.

He was done for. Fired. Certainly. They weren't going to keep a detective on the force if he almost killed the boss, now, would they? Even if it was by accident? How would they know it was an accident? Exactly. They wouldn't. For all they knew, Alex could hate Washington and could attempt to murder him again. Alex knew he wouldn't, but his fellow cops wouldn't, and if they had him tried, he doubted the jury would believe him. But that wasn't what bothered him the most. Oh, no. It was what _Washington_ would think.

Washington's approval meant everything to Alex and frequently used it as a reason not to quit or get fired. His chances were probably blown at this point. He stuck in the corner, keeping his legs tucked into his body, keeping his eyes glued on the other corner. That was until Washington showed up. He dragged his eyes up to meet Washington's soft gaze before being too ashamed and lowering it again. 

"Alex." He heard the cell door open, but yet he remained seated. Washington knew how to handle Alex. He crouched in front of him, taking up most of Alex's vision, forcing Alex to look up at him. "Come to my office, son."

"I'm not your son," he muttered.

Washington's eyes narrowed. "Alex." His voice was now hard and firm. Alex sighed, defeated. He knew there was no winning now. Besides, he could only hold out against his boss for so long.

He placed his hands on the cold brick wall and used it as a crutch to support himself as he pushed himself off of the ground, as well as taking Washington's offering hand. Alex kept his head down, trailing behind Washington, dodging the stares, snickers, glares, and whispers thrown his way. If he squeezed his fists, then he was less likely to punch someone. If he squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't see their faces. If he made his thoughts louder, then he couldn't hear their taunts, laughs, and rumors, He refused to let them get the best of him. He refused to let them affect his ability to handle himself.

Alex already fucked up and he wouldn't let them make him lose control and make everyone think him nearly hitting Washington with the bullet was on purpose. No matter how much he said it wasn't. This would not go over well. Everyone knew it.

The office was quiet, the soft hum of a heater going. This was it. He'd start searching for other jobs in the newspaper when he got home. Wouldn't tell Eliza he got fired until he has a new job. He could do that. Okay. He had a plan. Honestly, that was all he ever needed.

"Alex, I'm curious." That was never a good sentence. Especially when followed by paper shuffling, a clearing of the throat, and a focused look. "I'm curious to know if that shot was intentional or not. Because I was watching you. I know you were working on your aim. So, when that shot came, my immediate thought was that it was probably wasn't intended on. I'm asking to confirm my thoughts."

His eyes widened out of fear. He felt his brain go numb. His fingers played with themselves. "Oh, no! I promise I would never intentionally attempt to hurt you let alone try to murder you! I was angry and I knew I sucked at shooting, so I was like, 'Yes! Finally! A way to handle both at the same time and kill two birds with one stone!' for lack of a better description. Anyway, I was aiming for the dead center bullseye target when Jefferson came up behind me and said something I'd rather not repeat. It startled me and you were coming out of the backroom and he made me lose focus. My finger was already on the trigger and when he said what he did, I hit the trigger by mistake and it nearly hit you."

Washington soaked up the information, nodding his head slowly, not breaking eye contact with Alex. Honestly, it kind of freaked Alex out a little bit. "That's what I thought." Alex thought the meeting was over, but, oh, how wrong he was. Washington stood up and started going through the manila folders kept behind his desk. Alex felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Five years ago, when Alex was in college, he interned here and he help work on the folders kept behind all of the chief's desks and filled them up. How could he forget? The first one was all of the assault forms, the second folder held the missing persons' forms, third was murder, fourth held the forms for release, and fifth and final folder contained the suspension and expulsion forms. The folder Washington was pulling sheets from. From his seat, he couldn't see which form it was until it was under his nose, but he has a sneaking suspicion it would be the one he had to sign, saying he was fired.

When Washington turned around to grab a pen, Alex let out a frustrated sigh from his nose when he realized, of course, _Washington wouldn't let him see the damn from until he needed to sign it. Washington was just that type of sneaky bastard._ Why did Washington put Alex through the anxiety he definitely meant to do. There was no way it was an accident.

He didn't spend much time going through the form, and that gave Alex some hope. Maybe he wasn't as screwed as he originally thought. He knew the termination papers had a lot of signing and dates and writing that was involved and needed to be talked about. However, Washington was a quick writer. He couldn't know for sure until the paper was placed in front of him to sign.

When he finally did see it, he could not have let out more breath ever in his life. He was so relieved to see it was a suspension form that he actually started giggling, which turned into hardcore laughter that threw him on the ground, clutching his abdomen, and that turned into a villain's cackle. He was so glad he didn't have to find a new job; he really enjoyed it in the detective department. Besides, it was he was good at. Not so much actually in the field, but doing the investigations and piecing together the puzzle and making arrests and getting the evidence is what he was good at. The whole office knew it. They all knew Washington thought that Alex was the best and that's why he got the tougher cases, but they honestly thought the same thing, so they weren't necessarily complaining. Everyone knew that the day Washington would even consider firing Alex was the day the world ended. Alex was practically Washington's son, no matter what Alex said or how hard he denied it.

"Now, Hamilton, I'm sure you know why this is happening instead of expulsion?"

Actually, he didn't know why he wasn't being fired. He was for sure certain that he would have been fired immediately, no discussion. That he'd be on his knees begging for his job back, crying, claiming he'd do whatever the hell it took to get his job back. He shook his head. "Honestly, I thought I'd be out of here no question. I did almost shoot you in the head, you know."

Washington nodded. "Yes, I know. But you didn't do it on purpose, and not to sound cocky or anything, but I know you look up to me, so I doubted you'd mean to shoot me. Look, point is, this is my call. The others may have some issues, but they don't call the shots, I do. Neither does the chief department. This is my call, my decision. You seem too stressed to accurately work, and I know that if you aren't suspended you'll still do work. I was actually coming out of the backroom to give you the form anyway. And now that you nearly shot me, even if by accident, I have even more reason to suspend you. Don't worry; it'll only be a week and a half.

"Alex, you're my best detective. I'm not going to fire you. You probably could have actually shot me and I still wouldn't have fired you. I really like you and I enjoy having you around the office. If you think I'd actually get rid of you that quickly, you do not know me at all. Now, please just sign the forms so you can relax and everyone can calm down. They just need to be told the correct story."

Alex sighed, knowing he would lose the argument; Washington was the only person who was able to get Alex to calm down from an argument and to beat him if he was in one. Washington was the only person who could control Alex, so when he fought with Jefferson in the office, they immediately called for him and tried to get him down there as soon as he possibly could to stop Alex from killing Jefferson.

Alex hastily signed the papers, nearly tearing the pages a couple of times. "So, am I not allowed to do work while on suspension?"

"It's preferred you not, but knowing you I know there's probably no stopping you, so I'm not even going to bother answering that. Just don't do interviews or come into the office for anything. You can take some of your work home with you so you're able to start working on it at home, but nothing major, okay? And only the Reynolds' case."

Alex had to bite his tongue to keep from cheering too loudly (or at all) at his victory and pretty much flew out of Washington's office, a small box in hand to his office to collect his items for the next eleven days. He filled the box with the files from the Reynolds' case, the evidence he's collected, names, and his legal pad with all of his notes. He grabbed his briefcase and realized as he walked out the door that he needed something to tell Eliza for why he was staying home because he knew she would murder him right on sight if she found out the real reason he was suspended from work.

His entire car ride home, he decided he would tell her that he decided to take a vacation for a little bit to get this case started because he couldn't get anything done in the office. The other workers were crowding him and he couldn't think. That Burr was on his ass for something that he didn't know about and he wouldn't drop it and there was no way Alex could work under those circumstances.

This would not be an easy lie. Why did this have to happen to him of all people? What did he do to deserve this? No, the shooting incident didn't count because Thomas fricken' Jefferson came in while Alex had a perfect aim and ruined it by being there. 

. . .As much as he didn't want to admit it, maybe lying wasn't the best way to go about this situation. He was not at all ready for what was in store for him when he told Eliza the truth, because he knew that that was the better thing to do; it was responsible and responsibility needed to be as much on his side as it possibly is on his side. He just had to hope Eliza was able to realize it wasn't his fault and it was Thomas that distracted him and he would never actually purposely hurt his boss -- one of his favorite people in the world. If Washington could forgive Alex, he was holding out hope that Eliza would and that if she didn't why would he even continue in that job with Jefferson, where more incidents like this could happen?

He had to hold his tears back, trying not to screw up his driving, get into an accident, and have Eliza hate him more. He just needed _something_ to go right for today. Why was this so hard to accomplish? Alex concluded that the world just despised him and did not want to see him succeed. At least not for today.

Walking in the door to his home with his wife home in the kitchen, his children coming back from school while he was holding a box of the Reynolds' case was probably one of the most embarrassing, degrading things he'd ever gone through. He felt so uncomfortable. His wife couldn't figure out why her husband was home. He couldn't tell her; not with the children in the room attaching themselves around his legs, holding on tightly and refusing to let go, no matter how much he tried to convince them (especially Philip) that they were too old and weighed too much for them to do that.

He'd simply wait until the kids were asleep. Maybe get Eliza tipsy before telling her? Yeah, that was a good idea. He'd do that. "Alexander?"

"Yes, my love?"

"What were you doing at home at 2 pm? You never come home that early. You're usually there until 11 or 12." She gasped, covering her mouth before whispering, "Did something happen?"

Alex groaned, preparing himself to give her the entire story, no alcohol involved. Both of them completely sober, the hard and raw truth being thrown into the air.

_This was all Jefferson's fault and Hamilton would never forget._


	4. The One Where Alex is Grieving Philip

He didn't deserve this. Philip was a good boy -- he did everything just right. He was a good kid. And now where is he? In a fucking coffin buried six feet in the fucking ground because of the illness that had taken him.

The Hamilton's didn't take it well. Most of the children weren't old enough to understand what happened to Philip, yet they cried anyway at his funeral because they were old enough to understand that he was gone and he was never returning.

Eliza wouldn't get out of bed for a week and a half after the funeral. Her other children never saw her without tears streaming down her face, red puffy eyes, and dark circles under her eyes. She was a mess. Her eldest son was gone and she missed him. Her best friends became the pillow she refused to let go of, the tissues scattering around her side of the bed, and the dead phone she wouldn't charge because that would mean talking and she wasn't ready for anything more than "I miss him" or grunts. She could barely talk to her kids or Alexander, let alone her sisters.

Alex, however, only cried at Philip's funeral (as far as he knew), not entirely knowing how to handle the sadness that had grown in his heart and the tears he saw leave his wife's eyes. He worked. He refused to stop, to go home. Angelica had gone to his office and begged him to take a break -- he refused to. Claimed it was calming him. When a case wouldn't work out in his favor, he would get stressed and drink himself to sleep on top of his desk. If asked, Washington wouldn't be able to say how many times he had to wake Alex up carefully and remove the alcohol from Alex's office and transfer his notes to a paper that wasn't soaked in whiskey or tequila or vodka or whatever drink Alex had had the previous night.

The worst nights, though, were when Alex was so drunk he stumbled into Thomas' office, sat on the floor in criss-cross applesauce and ranted about how much he loved Philip and missed him and said nothing in the world could replace what he'd lost. He would rant about how upset Eliza was and how he knew she needed time and how hard it was. He would cry until he vomited sometimes. He would cry himself to sleep. Alexander was vulnerable and drunk and showing himself to Thomas and Thomas didn't know how to handle the man sobbing to him about his dead son.

Usually, Thomas would sit there, behind or next to Alex, his arms around him, rocking the pair of them back in forth in an attempt to get his coworker to stop crying. Once he fell asleep, Thomas would bring him back to his office and cover him with a blanket. The man always ended up on his desk with everything thrown on the floor, somehow.

Tonight was one of those nights Alex appeared in Thomas' office drunk. Alex had his bottle of vodka with him this time, which was new. Thomas watched Alex, to see how his behavior would change.

It was very different tonight. He didn't sit in a pretzel and he wasn't rambling. He sat with his knees tucked under his chest and crossed his arms over his legs, gripping the neck of the bottle in his right hand, occasionally taking swigs. He was silent and his eyes were dead -- fixated on a point Thomas couldn't make out.

Thomas didn't know how to react to the change. Alex's eyes were hard and angry, but he was still crying. Thomas couldn't imagine losing a child. Since he didn't even have kids, it was unimaginable. And how proud Alex was. . . Never shut up about Philip and how well he was doing in school.

He met the kid a couple of times when Alex had brought him by the office, but didn't know much about him aside from how iPod his grades were and how much people loved the kid.

Instead of saying anything, Thomas moved next to Alex, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulled the man's head under his chin and on his shoulder.

"Alex?"

He didn't know what to do, so he just made eye contact with Thomas, hard glare in his eyes, and took a big swig of his vodka bottle and shrugged with a little sarcastic eye roll.

This time, he was lucky. Washington stopped by and poked his head in to see how Thomas was doing and was greeted by one of his best workers on the floor, in tears, and guzzling a bottle of vodka while the other one attempted to comfort him. Washington claimed to be "completely inappropriate for the workplace" and sent Alex home while Thomas was "in charge of making sure Mr. Hamilton made it home safely and didn't try to do work on his time off."

Thomas knew better than to argue with the boss man, but he definitely did _not_ thank him for leaving Thomas to clean up Alex himself and to get the alcohol out of his hands. It wasn't easy, but it also wasn't the trickiest thing he'd ever had to do in his life either. 

"Alex, come on. You've got to get up and get in the car."

Alex groaned, rolling his head in a way that should not be possible. "Where are we goin', Tommy?" he slurred.

Thomas let out a small "oof" as he hoisted Alex up, finally. "First of all, we're leaving to get you some water. Then you are going home and staying home so your son's death can process with your family and you can take care of everything. No working. You understand that?" Of course, Alex didn't understand. He was so drunk he could barely walk by himself, yet Thomas asked anyway.

Giggling, Alex shrugged. "My son died! Ha! None of us saw it comin'! The kid was so fuckin' smart. He had so much goin' for him. Then that friggen illness hit and _killed_ him. He just graduated from college. I'm so fucking proud of him." Alex took a moment to pause, looking Thomas in the eyes. "Tommy?"

"Yes, Alexander?"

"Have you ever been so proud of someone, but you never told them enough, and suddenly they're yanked away from you and they had no idea just how proud you really were?"

Thomas' lips pressed together, "No, I haven't. I'm sorry for your loss." That got Alex laughing, and Thomas didn't think he'd said anything funny, but you never know when the other person's drunk off their ass.

"Ha! I just wished Philip knew how _fucking_ proud he made me. Especially that one time--" Hamilton's words got cut off when a snap broke through the car. 

"What was that?"

Lifting the foot that he was bouncing, Alex saw he had stepped on some glasses that he soon made out to be his.

Thomas shook his head. "There's some blue tape with cats on it in the drawer there. Can you get it so we can tape your glasses back together?" He knew it had been located when Alex burst out laughing again.

"This reminds me of the time Philip was a petty six-year-old and he found some blue duct tape and found Burr's cat when I had to drop off some papers and he put the tape on the cat and--" Thomas couldn't tell the rest of what he was saying due to his laughter cutting him off. "--and he yanked it off the cat! The poor cat had a bald spot for the longest time!"

Thomas had to admit that that was hilarious and he showed it by swerving the car from laughing so hard. He could tell that Alex was starting to sober up, but he was still pretty drunk.

They were nearing their homes, but Thomas still needed to get Alex some water to get rid of some of the alcohol. He pulled into a gas station that was near the house and purchased an entire case of water all for Alex. Then he pulled into his driveway. "Come on, buddy. We've gotta get you okay before I send you back to your wife." Alex tried to dart to his own house, but Thomas claimed a tight grip on Alex's shirt and refused to let go. That was until he shifted his grip to Alex's arm and tugged him along to the house.

To ensure he wouldn't lose his colleague, he had to unlock the door in record time. Meanwhile, Thomas was silently cursing Hamilton for thinking it was a good idea to start drinking at 2 pm and not entirely stopping until 5 pm. Eliza would probably blame Thomas for letting it happen, so he just tried to make him sober at his house and avoid the lecture Eliza would no doubt go into.

As they entered the house, Thomas' dog, Cheeseball, greeted them, resting his paws all over Alex and licking Thomas' cheek.

"Can I trust you to sit here alone for a couple of minutes to get you medicine and water?" Hamilton hummed an agreement and yawned. Thomas managed to get him to take Tylenol and half a water bottle before Alex completely fell asleep.

A slight headache and bright lights awoke him. Alex looked around and groaned upon seeing he was back at Thomas' house. He sat upon the leather couch (surprised it wasn't purple, but not surprised it was a loud blue) and noticed two and a half water bottles on the arm of the LOVE seat along with pills and a note.

_Alex,_

_You were drunk and Washington told me to take care of you. You are not allowed to go to work until you can without drinking. You are not to leave my home or to do work from home. Wait until I get home (2:15 in the pm) to get you home. Take Tylenol every two hours and drink the water -- I promise it will help you._

_-Thomas_

He searched for a clock. Noon. He had two hours and fifteen minutes until Thomas got home. He decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to take the medicine, so he did. He also decided it would be a better idea to take a shower, so he did that as well.

Since it was Thomas' house, he didn't really know what he was or wasn't allowed to touch or do, so he just sat on the floor, back in his dirty alcoholic clothes drinking water as his hair dropped water on the carpet.

By the time Thomas got home, it was nearing 3 pm. Alex didn't know what to do. He was starving but didn't know if he should eat or not, so his entire diet for the day consisted of water and Tylenol until Thomas returned home.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Burr called an emergency meeting and it took longer than expected. Washington put all of your cases on hold. You'll get through this I promise. Did you eat anything?"

Lifting his head slowly, Alex shook his head. "All I did was drink water, take the Tylenol, take a shower, and sit here."

"Why didn't you do anything else? And why didn't you put on some of my clothes?" Thomas inquired.

"I didn't know what I was or wasn't allowed to touch or was or wasn't allowed to do and I couldn't find my phone to text you." Alex had never been this vulnerable, admitting a shameful truth.

Thomas went upstairs without a word and Alex stayed in place. Even though he'd been counting down the clock all day, Alex didn't know how long Thomas was gone for before coming down with a set of sweatpants, boxers, a sweatshirt, and a t-shirt, surprisingly none of it purple. "I hope you like Oakland. It's all I have that would fit you. Now, would you like to watch some TV and eat food before I send you back to Eliza and your kids?"

Alex nodded, taking the outfit from Thomas, pulling him into a tight hug, allowing a few tears to spoil his "thank you". It was truly a record of how quickly he changed before joining Thomas back on the leather couch, keeping his clothes folded up on his lap while his hand was glued to his face to get rid of anymore falling tears.

Unsure of how to respond, Thomas just made mac-n-cheese and gave Alex a huge bowl. His heart warmed at the sight of how quickly the man devoured it.

The guys made small talk, and it was quite obvious to Thomas that Alex just needed some sober niceness. When the two weren't caught in a frenzy of how to go about their cases, they actually got along quite well and they had much to joke about.

It neared later and later and they both realized Alex had to go home soon, but neither of them wanted him to leave. But Thomas made him go anyway. First, though, they had to find Alex's phone -- which they located to be in between the couch cushions. 

Alex knew it would be a lot to explain to Eliza when he got home, but for once, he actually didn't care. He was too upset about his son and his (now) friend helped him start grieving healthily and move the process along. For the first time in two weeks, he didn't feel the need to get drunk off of his ass -- and he was okay with that.

As they neared the end of Alex's visit, they stood at the door saying goodbye before Alex went home. He pulled Thomas into another tight hug. "Thank you so much, dude, I really mean it. Thank you." Alex pulled away and tears were pooled in his eyes.

_This was not Thomas' fault. Thomas helped and Alex was grateful for that._


	5. The One With The New Year's Party

"Alex, breathe. We aren't teenagers anymore, and you aren't a bitter old man who wants revenge on the teenager next door. I promise this isn't worth it."

"Eliza, it's so loud I feel the bed vibrating. I want to call the police and get his damn party shut down. It's four in the morning. This shit should have been done three hours ago. I feel like it's worth it to call them."

New Year's Day. Thomas Jefferson had a huge blow out party and since he was an adult, alcohol was actually legal and that made drunk adults get very loud. As the night wore on, Alex was also finding out that Thomas somehow got his hands on some marijuana and that he hired a DJ (who apparently didn't know he wasn't at a club). Alex could feel the agitation growing. He wanted to call the police and get Thomas' party shut down so he could sleep. Everyone should have been home sleeping by now, but Thomas had cleverly invited the entire neighborhood, ensuring no one else would be able to call the cops. Eliza was currently just trying to get her husband to sleep and ignore whatever crap Thomas was doing. If he couldn't call the police, then he was at least glad that all of his children were at their aunt's house for the holiday, and that she was at least uptown, so that they weren't near this noise and the lack of control displayed by the adults.

There was no way this night could go any worse. He just wanted a nice, relaxing New Year's with Eliza for once. They sent their three children, Philip, Angelica, and Alex Jr., to their aunt Peggy's house to celebrate their New Year's while their parents were chilling at home, not worrying about going to other people's parties or hosting their own, calmly sipping wine and kissing all night; not worrying too much about the new year and watching other shows until 11:59 pm, when they finally switched their TV over to Dick Clark's Rocking New Year's Eve to watch the ball drop.

They had broken out the nice glasses, the fancy cheese the couple hid from their children since they both enjoyed it and their kids' taste buds weren't developed enough to appreciate the sharp taste, the good red wine that they got as an anniversary present from Eliza's sisters that was paired with a dirty note they had to throw away so they could avoid giving their kids _the talk_ until they were definitely ready -- on both ends.

Honestly, since Eliza and Alex weren't doing anything specific for New Year's and there was no pressure to be fun, they didn't drink nearly as much as they would have if they were playing games with their friends. They drank slowly and only had a glass or two. They had cheese its and crackers with the good cheese, deciding it was a good idea to test the tastes, hoping to get a new snack they enjoyed while watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S on Netflix until it was time for them to put on the ball drop since there wasn't anything really interesting on it at all. Sure they liked the music, but not enough to listen to it for three hours before it was January first.

That was their night summed up. The entire time, though, they were able to hear Thomas' party going on and being loud as anything. Alex didn't understand how some adults would be able to stand to get that drunk and high and loud, even if it was just for one night. But it wasn't like they all had the next day off. Just because it was New Year's Day, New Year's parties were over and everyone was supposed to go back home by three in the morning so they were able to get up at their normal time and do their job the next day. But not with Thomas' logic, who decided it was a good idea to keep everyone in the entire neighborhood and then some as late as they possibly could be there, making his house sound like a wild animal had inhabited his house and took over. 

He turned to his wife, barely being able to make out her figure in the dark. "But, love, it's so loud, and I kind of do not want our children asking questions about getting drunk. Plus we had to shut the windows because of all of the weed that was being smoked out there. It's so much pollution. It's not safe nor is it sanitary or a good place for children to be. Are you sure you don't want me calling the police to get it shut down?"

Eliza thought for a few minutes, turning over the ideas in her head. She did want her children to be safe, but she also didn't want her husband getting into a fight with his coworkers because he called the police on a party. She sighed, giving in. "I am tired. . . Fine. Call the cops, but if they suspect it's you that called in, then you are _not_ going to admit to calling in. Got it?"

"Eliza, I'm not going to be a coward about it. If they ask me if I called in the tip, I am going to admit to it. Denial is cowardly and I am younger than almost everyone at the precinct -- this is my chance to make something of myself and show I am not afraid of confrontation and that I can make tough decisions. This could work out in my favor later on in life, love. Think of it like that."

Alex sat up, ignoring whatever his wife was saying about fights. He may easily start them, but he also stops them pretty damn fast if he did say so himself. He refused to be made fun of like that, especially by his wife. He dialed the police station. "Hi, yes. I would like to report a party going on next door involving alcohol and drugs."

Eliza huffed, rolling on her side, watching the strobe lights that flashed on the street from Jefferson's house as she listened to her husband call in the police. "Yes...adults...marijuana...okay, thank you. Goodnight and Happy New Year to you too, officer."

Alex made a smug face and looked toward his wife. "They're coming, and I won't get into any fights. You'll see. Goodnight, my love."

When Alex entered his office the next morning, he felt unusually drowsy, that coming from the man who barely slept. He had a tough time keeping his eyes open. In fact, he practically fell asleep in the car on his drive to his work building, so to prevent that, he put on some loud rap to keep him awake, earning him some nasty stares from elderly couples who could no doubt hear his music.

When Washington popped his head in to remind Alex about the meeting he was presenting at in two hours and that they were being observed, "so he needed to get his shit together so they didn't get marks off", Washington noticed something was off. And that was only because Alex wasn't protesting something and just barely spoke.

"Son? You feeling okay?"

Alex absent-mindedly nodded, lazily throwing a limp wrist at Washington, and he could only take that to be "leave," so he took Alex's word for it that he was alright and left.

He was suspicious, but he didn't actually do anything until he came into Hamilton's office once more half an hour before the presentation to make sure he had everything ready, and he prepared to yell at Alex to stop doing his damn work and to do his other damn work, but when he came in, no work at all was being done, no. Alexander Hamilton had his head resting on the edge of his laptop, nearly snapping it in half, snoring. They weren't obnoxious or loud, but he was definitely sleeping and Washington would not have that kind of bullshit going on in his precinct, having his workers make him look like a fool.

He grabbed a big book right off Alex's impressive and massive bookshelf, standing in the middle of the room, and raising it high above his head before dropping it, not caring about the noise and disturbance he was causing -- actually happy about it because it woke up Alex, who was overdue in the meeting room and nearly running late.

Washington decided he would stay with Alex as he got set up so he wouldn't fall asleep again, but as Washington saw the most graceful person he knew aside from Burr trip over his feet scrambling around the small room to gather his many papers and charts as well as pointers in a neat, collected, calm pile, that was when Washington worried the most. "Alex, are you sure you're alright to do this? If not, I can have Madison or Burr take over. That is always an option, you know."

Alex knew, but he refused to let his co-workers take over the presentation he had been planning for three months, trying to make sure everything was perfect. And especially not because he was "tired." That wasn't something that existed in his vocabulary. "Yes, sir. I am fine. I will not let you down."  
Unsure if he should trust Alex or not, Washington shamefully followed the tripping mess that desperately needed coffee and sleep into the meeting room. "Alex, it's not a good idea to be practically sleeping in your state and trying to do a professional presentation. I can take over for you if need be." He placed a hand on Alex's hand. He wasn't sure when he did, but all he knew was Alex was staring at him with a disgusted look and was stuck under Washington's hold because of how unnaturally strong he was.

Just to be free, Alex actually had to dig his nails under Washington's fingers and dig them into his fingers to free his shoulder to enter the meeting room and hooking his laptop up to the projector.

"Come on, Mr. Washingon. It's me. I've been in worse conditions before and still gotten my job done pretty fricken well, if I do say so myself, and not to brag, but I do say."

Pursed lips, Washington watched as his employee stumbled to get the projector hooked up correctly and the charts in order with his script in a perfect position, remembering a couple of them times Alex referenced. More specifically when Alex was in eighth grade and Washington was just a teacher at his school before moving on to his job in the precinct. Alex was the main character in the school play, and he was having an anxiety attack and the previous night (the day just before the actual play), he was released from the hospital after breaking his arm, and he didn't get much sleep due to his medication making him stay awake, and Alex refused to let the understudy do the part, claiming that he spent too much effort and time into rehearsals to not be the character he had _become_ over the past couple of months, so he went on stage, giggling a lot because of how tired he was, with a broken arm, as well as terrified out of his mind, and did the play like the sneaky smug bastard he is. 

Washington didn't even know where to begin if he was going to argue with Alex, so he just decided it was in his best interest _not_ to argue and just allowed Alex to do his thing, and would take over for him if he needed to and would wait until something bad would happen so Alex would finally go home and get some sleep.

Good news for Washington was that he didn't have to wait all that long before something bad happened, but bad news for Alex, he messed up fairly early into his presentation. He wasn't able to process what went wrong exactly, but he could tell by the sour look glued on the observers face as she most likely made negative ticks on her page, that he was not doing well. He paused to look at Jefferson, who was giggling like a teenage girl gossiping with her friends with Madison as they just watched the train wreck that was Hamilton unravel in front of them. Washington kept his head in his hands, and Alex could feel the disappointment radiating off of him.

"Mr. Washington? May I speak to you outside really quickly?" Washington's face flushed a deep pink all the way up to the tips of his ears as he followed Alex out of the meeting room.

"Sir, what did I do wrong? Jefferson and Madison are laughing at me, you're disappointed, and the observer woman looked like she was sucking on a lemon the entire time she was marking her paper and taking notes. She barely looked up at me."

"Alex, first of all, your fly was undone the entire time, and that just looks a little unprofessional, I'm sorry. Second, you were somehow showing the presentation backward, but you were saying it in order, and it didn't match up, also making that look super unprofessional." Alex was silent, drinking up what he did wrong, nodding.

"Sir, I absolutely hate to say this, but I think you should take over for me, seeing as I am too tired to even process what I'm doing and that it was so wrong that probably got us a bad review. There was a loud party last night and it just went really late and I didn't get much sleep. I'm sorry, sir. I think I blew my chance in there. I'll just go home now so you can finish up this presentation and try to fix my mistakes."

There weren't many times when Alex took his health responsibly like this, so all Washington was able to do was smile in pride and be proud of what his scholar employee was saying. "Just, be careful. If you need it, call Eliza to tell her to pick you up, and I'll drive your car home tonight so you have your care back, alright? You just get the rest you need and be safe."

Alex solemnly nodded, hiding his personal disappointment, packing up his belongings to go home, and he was not happy that he needed to be sent home, but he was just ready to finally make up for the lack of sleep he got last night and to be satisfied with how much sleep he was getting.

There was no way he'd be able to drive his own car with how tired he was, so he dialed Eliza's number quickly. "Hey, Eliza, do you think you'd be able to pick me up from the office? I messed up a presentation pretty badly and Washington is sending me home to get some rest, so I don't have more issues, especially since we were being observed."

He could hear her sign and roll her eyes into the receiver. "I'll be right over. . ."

"You glad I called in the party then, last night?" he taunted lightly.

"Ha, ha, yeah, yeah. I'll be there shortly."

Alex didn't have to wait very long before Eliza pulled up in the parking lot, and he laid his head on the window, closing his eyes and feeling the harshly soft bumps in the road and the sounds of the tires on the road.

Before he drifted off completely, he had one thought:

_This was all Thomas Jefferson's fault for having his rowdy party last until the ungodly hours of the night._


	6. The One Where the Criminal Gets Away

God damn it, he was out of shape. He wasn't in the field very often, but that was also a really bad thing because he could barely keep up with Thomas and the bank robber (they learned his name was Mickey because they heard a woman call his name and he called behind him, telling her to shut up). There were cramps all over his torso, he was sweating like it was the summer and he ran three miles, and Alex was convinced that if his heart went any faster that it would actually just beat right out of his chest. 

"T - Thomas," he wheezed, coming to a stop, leaning down over his knees, feeling nauseous and trying to reach for his rescue inhaler. "You go on. I need to catch my breath. Call me when you catch him." He glanced up and saw the running figure of his partner nodding his ever vigorously, still charging after Mickey.

As soon as Alex was able to breathe, he chased after Thomas and Mickey, catching up fairly quickly since the two of them were coming back to the car, Mickey in handcuffs and Thomas keeping one hand on his shoulder and one hand in between the cuffs. Alex took another puff of his rescue inhaler and Thomas shook his head. "How the fuck did Washington clear you for being in the field with your asthma? Dude really likes you, no way he'd let you run around with asthma that bad." 

"Maybe he didn't tell this 'Washington'?" Mickey suggested, interrupting the detective's conversation. Alex flushed as Thomas whipped around to face him.

"Is Mickey right? Did you not tell Washington that you have asthma? Ham, that's dangerous and you know it. You have to tell him; no matter how much you like being out in the field. I do not like you -- in fact, I hate you -- but you need to stay safe. You are, unfortunately, my partner, but I do not want you dead since you pushed yourself too hard and wasn't safe with your asthmatic restrictions," Thomas rambled off, tightening his grip on Mickey's shoulder with just about every word he said.

Mickey winced. "First of all, _Ow!_ Jesus Christ, could you loosen your grip, damn? Second, 'Ham', it sounds like this officer really doesn't like you, but he definitely cares for your health. You know, you really should listen to him."

Alex's glare shot daggers through Mickey's head. "Shut the fuck up. I'm sure Jefferson already read you your Miranda Rights? This shit can and will be held against you, so I suggest you keeping your mouth shut since you are not a therapist. You're a bank robber who ran, so stop playing therapist for two cops who don't get along and stay silent."

Mickey shrugged. "It's not like I'm saying anything harmful. What's so bad about me trying to talk to either of you anyway? The car seems to be pretty far away; besides, you aren't exactly in the most private area to have these types of conversations."

Alex balled his fists and assumed Thomas' grip tightened yet again because Mickey's body lurched forward as best it could -- a natural reaction to pain. If Mickey wanted to live, he really needed to shut up when he was with the two cops who couldn't hold themselves and typically hurt people by accident rather than on purpose.

Alex made a look at Thomas, and thankfully he saw it without Mickey also seeing it, indicating that neither of them should say anything else to prevent Mickey from speaking and possibly getting into even further trouble than he already was, and if he spoke, then the two of them would just ignore him and not respond, so they couldn't get in trouble either.

Of course, since Mickey _had_ said he was bored and wanted to talk, and there was enough time _to_ talk between where they were and where the car was parked, of _course,_ Mickey decided to test that theory, he spoke, also starting to catch on to what the cops were doing. "Nice weather today, right? Sun is out, birds are chirping, cars are milling about to get to where they need to be. Nice though, right?" Neither detective answered. Mickey chuckled. "Okay, I see what you're doing here."

Alex and Thomas exchanged nervous glances, really hoping Mickey was only bluffing. He couldn't really do anything, but they were just not in the mood for conversation, especially not Alex with the subject of the matter for their conversations. Alex could feel sweat starting to pool on his forehead, and he was unsure if it was due to the sun, Mickey, or both. He could also feel a sense of nervousness radiating from Thomas' body as well.

"Why don't you want to talk to me? Is it because I'm a criminal, I robbed a bank -- or at least tried to before you arrested me -- I ran, and then you had to tackle me to the ground to get the handcuffs on? Because if so, then it's understandable. I wouldn't want to talk to me either if I were you and I just had to go through the hell I put you through." Mickey's rambling about possible reasons on why Alex and Thomas didn't want to talk to him seemed to go on and on and have no end at all. Alex was mentally shooting himself in the brain many times with one of the heavier duty guns that were kept in the backroom and the vans for stakeouts and more dangerous missions.

Mickey sure had a big mouth on him, for being such a relatively smaller guy. Thomas was about five or seven inches taller than Alex, and Mickey was only about an inch or two taller than Alex, but Mickey was also lanky and skinny, so he was fairly small, even in Alex's eyes.

As the three were walking, Alex and Thomas scoured the streets for their car, which they had seemed to have misplaced, while Mickey kept finding the smallest things to talk about and verbally wrote a bunch of essays of nonsense on them, but the most insufferable and intolerable part for Alex was that he finally understood how other people felt talking to him. It was like he was talking to a brick wall since it was unresponsive. But the only reason it wasn't responding was due to the fact that the wall was actually a human who had tuned him out as soon as he walked in the room and they were just pretending to listen to he felt like he was actually having a conversation, while the other person was praying an off switch would magically appear over their heads and you could make them stop. Alex made a mental note to try not to talk as much, although he had no doubt he would break that mental promise almost as soon as he made it.

It only felt as if an eternity had passed by before the trio had finally reached the car. Alex was trying to think ahead and spend as little time with Mickey as possible, so he asked Thomas for the paperwork that they had to fill out every time they made an arrest, and he wanted to do it in the car just to get it over with, and he would have, definitely no question; but Thomas forgot what he did with them. Eventually, it had taken Alex too long searching for the papers that Thomas stuffed Mickey in the car door, conveniently (for Mickey) forgetting to shut the door, before popping back into the front of the car to help Alex look, since he was apparently incapable of doing that on his own.

"Are you sure that you left the forms in the box?" Alex was getting frustrated. This was taking too long, and Thomas wasn't really any help either. He was just making Alex feel like shit. He huffed. "Fine. We'll just do this at the station. Let's go, Mickey. You ready to -- _OH MY GOD!"_ Alex stared at the empty back seat containing an empty pair of handcuffs, missing a thin, tall man who looked as if he hadn't taken proper care of himself in months and that he hadn't shaved in a while, who just robbed a bank.

Alex continued to stare into the vacancy in pure shock, not really knowing how to properly address the situation, never needing to chase a criminal before because they hadn't actually lost any of their arrested criminals, but while Alex was frozen and hating his life, Thomas was already running after Mickey, with no idea where he went or which direction he went in in the first place.

"Thomas! Come back! First of all, it would be easier to chase him down with the car, seeing as he couldn't _possibly outrun_ the car. It's too fast, and not to mention it would be much faster than on feet and I would be able to catch up with you. Also, we could cover more ground in a quicker amount of time if we were in the car and potentially actually find him if we go now!"

Thomas came back, and as soon as he did, Alex started speaking again. "Jesus, _Thomas, how?!_ _How_ did you manage to make the handcuffs so loose that he was able to fucking slip his wrists right out of them with no effort he needed to put in of yanking them off because of how freaking loose they were? Jesus Christ this is going to take forever." For lack of a better way of how to handle his anger and frustration, Alex kicked the tire of the front of the car, almost immediately regretting his decision and gripped his toes in pain.

" _Hey_! This is not my fault. If you had not wanted to do your damn paperwork in the car, we would have been on the road and he wouldn't have had anywhere to run to."

"Oh, okay. So what you're trying to tell me, is that this is _my_ fault?"

" _YES!"_

"You know what? Fuck you. Let's just get in the car and drive around to start looking for him. It's not that bad, right? Not like he could have gotten that far in the little amount of time he'd had to run?"

Thomas glared, getting into the driver's seat, still grumbling about how if Alex had been more responsible, then they would not have even been in that mess, to begin with, and it took all of (and then some) of Alex's will power not to retort and make the situation worse, not wanting to push off finding their run away any longer than they already had.

After five minutes of driving down the three ways that Mickey could have gone, Alex and Thomas came up with nothing. "Right, so, how's your crappy plan of going down all of the ways going again? Oh, yeah, that's right...it's not going. At all. We are stuck circling around this cul de sac without Mickey in the back seat."

"Thomas shut the hell up. Didn't your mother ever teach you that if you don't have something nice to say not to say it at all? And do you even know what a cul de sac is because this is not it. We just need to keep looking. It's really not that bad, I promise."

Alex knew that most of this was Thomas' fault, but he definitely played quite a large role in this issue as well, and that his comments, sarcasm, and instigating statements weren't helping and only adding to their problems, so he really just tried his best to stay out of it -- at least for now, while they were looking for Mickey.

Alex was determined not to let Thomas ruin their jobs by allowing him to be a huge jerk while their jobs were on the line. They both full well knew that if they didn't come back to the precinct with a man arrested for the crime of multiple bank robberies, then they would both be fired before they would be able to say "arrest," and Alex could _not_ lose his job -- not now. Not with Eliza pregnant with their fourth child. Every day with Thomas was a nightmare, and this just took the icing on the cake. He had honestly been in worse situations with him though, so this was doable, this was manageable. Sure, it would take a little extra patience, but for this, it was worth it to Alex.

When it was finally starting to get dark, with the sun setting, purple skies, and pink clouds, the men were starting to give up on the assignment and get fired, but then, their miracle happened: there was Mickey, leaned up against the brick wall of the local dry cleaners, blood coming out of his head and leg, his blood staining the wall, the sidewalk, his clothes, and the blood from his head was dripping down his back. He was unconscious but definitely still alive. The detectives' best guess was that someone had found him, had a bone to pick with him, got annoyed, and they beat him up in the alleyway that was right next to the dry cleaners' that Mickey was leaned against.

The two of them sighed, knowing this would not be easy. First, they would have to wake him up, then they would have to clean him up, and as they were taking care of his wounds, they had to reread him his Miranda Rights, and then once his head was okay enough, they put the handcuffs back on his wrists and carefully placed him back in the back seat, bringing him to the station.

They honestly felt bad for him, knowing this would not be easy for him, and that he most likely had a concussion. After he was properly registered in jail and had all his correct assignments, if he was really that badly injured, which he was, then the cops who transferred the people in lock-up to the jail would allow him to see the nurse to see just how bad it was. The nurse determined he would need stitches and serious concussion healing time, so they pushed his sentence back three weeks so he could get better before he was locked away, but as soon as his time off was up, he was on his way to the county jail.

Once everything was sorted out, Alex and Thomas had no idea what made them think this, but they thought that they were off the hook for this arrest taking them so much longer than was needed and than it should.

They knew they were caught -- busted, fired. They held out hope that Washington would go easy on them, though that was most unlikely. Washington let things go pretty easily, but he was not a loosey-goosey "you're free to go without any real punishments, just don't do it again" type of boss, and that was why he was promoted within him working there for less than a year and a half. He was soft, but he was tough when needed, including when two of his best detectives go on a mission in the middle of the morning and come back after dark with a nearly dead convict.

He threw a file on his desk. It was labeled "Mickey Lervenstien: A Record." "What the hell was that and why were you two gone for so long? Why was he bleeding so much when you returned, Jesus Christ." Washington was speaking at a louder and faster pace than usual, and it honestly freaked Alex out, since he had never seen him like this before. Washington covered his eyes as if the sun was hurting his vision, despite there not being any sunlight getting into the darkroom. He also let out an exasperated sigh. "Can I trust the two of you to continue working together? Honestly, I do not know, and that is why I need every last detail. The truth. Only the truth, and the whole truth. You hear me?"

They nodded in sync. Alex spoke up first. "We had arrived at the bank where Mickey was robbing it, he ran, so we chased him, I had to stop for a minute and when I started to catch up with Jefferson who hadn't stopped running after Mickey, they were coming back from their way. 

"We had misplaced the car, and ran very far from it, so it took us a while to walk back to it, and Mickey just kept talking and talking and talking and just would not stop. So then we finally make it back to the car, and I decide to fill out the arrest forms in the car, just to get it over with, but we were unable to locate them, and when we were just about to go back to the station, Mickey was gone and had snuck out of the car.

"By the time we found him, it was when the sun was setting. He was leaning against the dry cleaners next to an alley we think he might have been beaten up in, bleeding everywhere. We woke him up for a few reasons, part of it literally just being part of procedure -- actually, most of the reasons we did was due to the fact that we had to continue with what we were doing -- but the one reason we woke him up that didn't have to do with procedure was just making sure he was okay.

"Waking him up took much longer than expected, and then when we finally did, it was dark out, so then we did everything else as clearly and quickly as possible, but it was still super late, and now here we are, having this conversation," Hamilton finished up, realizing the end of his statement was quite extra and irrelevant.

Washington turned to Jefferson. "Is he missing any vital information? Or anything at all, really?"

Jefferson thankfully shook his head, choosing to omit the times when they were fighting and blaming each other for what had happened. "Um, no, sir. Hamilton appropriately covered everything to the fullest extent that he could, and he left nothing out."

Washington nodded, switching glances between the two officers for a minute. "So, you two mean to tell me, your boss, that you lost our convict? And this confession was intentional?"

"well, uh, sir, you, uh," Alex stuttered. "You, uh, told us to tell you everything and in detail. That is what happened."

"But, to be clear, you did lose the miscreant?" The men nodded, clearly ashamed of their actions, whether they were intentional or not.

Washington raised his hand and Alex winced while Thomas prepared himself for a beating, surprised when there wasn't any smacking or hitting going on. They opened their eyes to see that Washington was only pointing behind them, to the back door that had wood peeling off of the frame and had nails sticking out of all places. Somehow, smoke was coming out of the bottom of the door. They really needed to get that fixed, but they didn't know anyone who would do it, they didn't have the time for it or the money to pay for it. That was the only place in the whole building that was that old. The lettering was pretty much gone. It looked like an overly worn pair of sweatpants that had gone through the washing machine so many times that the lettering was gone and no one could even tell there was anything on it, to begin with aside from the few specks of the remaining letters. "You two will be in charge of the laundry for three weeks as a punishment for losing Mickey, am I understood?"

"Loud and clear."

With some salutes, the two of them marched their ways out of the office and off to the laundry room to start their work.

_If only Thomas had made the handcuffs tighter, they wouldn't be in this mess anyway._


	7. The One Where Eliza Finds Out

Was it possible to die any more than Alexander Hamilton did, being surrounded by a fuming Eliza Hamilton, scared children, a smug Thomas Jefferson, and a couple of relatives and coworkers?

Eliza had stormed into his office, pissed off with four children trailing behind her, sobbing and holding onto each other. She had warned them to stay out of the office while she took care of their father, and that only made them even more afraid. She snapped at Madison to get his attention and then proceeded to kindly asked him to watch her children. All of the workers had come out of their offices and cubicles to watch this go down; to see if they could hear what was happening inside of the closed room.

Unfortunately for Alex, Eliza had found out. She found out about what happened between him and Jefferson all those years ago (something like thirteen years at this point). He knew at some point this would come back to bite him in the ass, but he was not expecting it to be this soon.

And not with how mad his wife was. He knew she would not at all be happy he cheated on her, but he was not expecting her to yell and throw things; certainly not demand a divorce as she was gasping, red-faced, and on his floor, not even looking at him. If he wasn't expecting this, then what? What else was an appropriate response to the actions that had taken place, no matter how long ago? Alex thought that that also played a very important role in how angry she had gotten. He kept it a secret for thirteen odd years from his wife that he cheated. They had four children together before she found out, their youngest being only a couple years old.

He didn't even know how she found out, she wouldn't tell him. He actually didn't even speak during her entire outburst. Only let her yell at him, throw things off of his desk, make a mess of his office, occasionally flinching when she threw things directly at him. The only actions he made were after she had pretty much calmed down from her high point of being pissed was when she was on the ground, sobbing, saying repeatedly how she wanted to get divorced and he handed her some tissues and said, "I'm sorry." That was all he said.

Sure, he was devastated he was losing his wife, his children (because she said she wanted full custody, no visitation rights when they discussed the matter further and he only agreed, not wanting to anger her further, but he didn't know how to fight for his family; he didn't think it was appropriate or right to do), most of his office hated him after finding out what happened. Jefferson got moved to a separate precinct and Eliza kicked him out of the house; threw a few boxes she'd packed for him out of the house and told him to go be a slut and to go grovel at Jefferson's door and beg to let you stay with him. She made it very clear he wasn't to go near her or the kids, to touch any of them, to talk to any of them, to look at any of them, and not to go even near their house.

Alex had fucked up royally and there was no coming back from this. Arguments weren't a thing that existed and there was no forgiving anything. It was a done deal. All that was left was the signing of that divorce papers, the divorce becoming official, and the court date to finalize everything and making it so that Alex could never see their children again.

Then came the resignation, not wanting to be around a bunch of people who hated him and made comments to him (even Washington was disappointed in him). He had no plan, nowhere to go, no idea where to go from there.

Alex was stuck in a hotel, barely being able to make payments, trying to find a job and erase his past, but he knew he wouldn't be able to continue being in the detective's department. Rumors and stories spread through them like wildfire and he couldn't take the taunts. He was already fighting the urge to get drunk again; the urge to drink until he died. He had to avoid it. 

He'd be a teenager again, working in a restaurant, waiting on people and serving tables. He was not excited about it, but he had no other ideas and it was his only option. The manager of the hotel was ready to kick him out. He was screwed. No way he was coming back from this.

It would take an excessive amount of time that Alex really didn't have, but he would get his life back. He would get back to his old self, missing a loving wife and his wonderful, _wonderful_ children that he was just so damn proud of and never knew how to express to them just how proud he was, and every time he thought of what he would probably never have again, he honestly cried. Screw what other people thought of him, he was emotional and the only thing that was keeping him from breaking entirely was crying. It was bad in public but even worse at night. He'd cry himself to sleep, and when he would wake up, his hair would be hard and styled due to the dried wetness that rested in it the previous night, his shirt would be completely soaked on his back and very damp on the front, same goes for his pillowcase and sheets. He even had snot everywhere. He was a gross mess, and he was genuinely surprised that he was still able to produce tears, but it helped.

It took him years. Years of pain, knowing the birthdays and holidays passing by that he was missing. He listened to Eliza, even though it killed him. He went on FaceBook, seeing what she posted, never liking her posts or commenting so she wouldn't see it and block him (something she forgot to do when they went through the divorce) because it was his only connection to see how they were doing. See if she was dating again or married; seeing if the guy was good enough for her. Good enough in a way that he wasn't. If he saw that they broke up, he would use his detective skills to find them and he would beat them up for hurting Eliza. He wasn't sure if stalking her FaceBook was doing more harm than good or not, but he wanted to know how his kids were, how his ex-wife was. He posted something shortly after beating up her last boyfriend, forgetting she didn't block him. She saw and she did block him. Alex broke.

Years after dealing with losing his family, his pride, his job, his home, his hope, his dignity, he gave up. He didn't want to continue working at a restaurant. He didn't want to continue living in a freaking hotel. He wasn't happy and he couldn't deal with the cold, empty, numbness he felt every day, having to think about how he'd never see them again. He gave up. He was done. He didn't know what else he could do. He weighed his options, only coming down to one good one.

He went to the bar. He no longer could care. He was too numb. He hated his life too much. He hoped Eliza was having a good life. Shot. He hoped his kids were doing alright. Shot. He hoped to God that all of them were okay. Shot. Every time he hoped something, he took a shot until he was cut off because he was getting dangerously drunk. When he _was_ cut off, he just wandered outside, kept wandering until he made it into the street and passed out in the street. It was late, not many cars on the road. Barely passing by. When they did, though, they usually passed by the lump on the road. That was until a car didn't see the drunk body in the middle of the road, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He was hit dead on.

There was only one thing on his mind:

_I'm so sorry, Eliza. This is all my fault. . ._

\----

The funeral was a really hard time for everyone. Everyone was shocked, of course, to find out that Alex had actually died. No one could believe it. To Thomas, the hardest part to believe was who showed up.

In the first row of his funeral sat Eliza, her new boyfriend, Philip, Angelica, Alexander Jr., and James Alexander. Thomas would have guessed that (with the exception of the boyfriend) all of them were hurt the most and that they were the most torn up by his death. Washington would have been the sixth most hurt person. What shocked Thomas the most, though, were the co-workers that showed up and spoke about Alexander, pretending like they hadn't been part of his leaving the precinct and they didn't play a role in Alex's hurt. The hurt that eventually caused him to become reckless and die.

The stories that were told, though, no matter what Alex had done in the past, or what relationships he had with people, everyone there knew that Alex would never be forgotten and it was his destiny to live on until the end of time.

_This was all Hamilton's fault. . ._


End file.
